


Seek Your Enemy

by Della19



Series: A Fine Piece of Real Estate [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Cannibalism, M/M, Wage Your War AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-01-26 22:38:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1705115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Della19/pseuds/Della19
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>William La Fontaine hates the opera.  </p><p>The music is fine, but the people are unbearable.  All the backstabbing simpering society climbing omegas that look down at him for the – unwanted – attention he receives from the boorish, old money alphas, who look at him like he’s a piece of meat, caring only for his body and his last name.</p><p>Also, he might have just imprinted on some alpha doctor with a foreign accent and beautifully tempting monsters in his compelling dark eyes, whom his sister thinks has a ‘serial killer face.’</p><p>Will thinks it’s possible that she’s more right than she knows.  It’s also possible that Will could care less.</p><p>Will is going to need something much stronger than this champagne.  </p><p>William La Fontaine hates the opera.</p><p>A Wage Your War AU, based on the idea of what if Will’s mother hadn’t left Will and his father when Will was three, as in that fic, and that he was raised in his mother’s rich household.  You should read that fic first, as otherwise this one won’t make too much sense.  Hannigram A/B/O.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Uh…implied cannibalism? Think that's a given in this fandom at this point. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Nope. Don’t own it.

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=2u6nx41)

******************************

 _You should seek your enemy, you should wage your war…_ ― Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra

******************************

“ _Willy_ ,” Lilah yells cheerfully, flopping herself down onto the couch, uncaring that she is getting dog hair on her six hundred dollar Gucci pants, “Get dressed. We’re taking mommy and daddy to the opera tonight!”

Will sticks his head out of their kitchen, a wide, open concept that gives him a perfect view of his sister, all wine red hair – from a bottle, but Lilah will deny it to strangers until her last breath – flowing wildly around her shoulders, framing her pixie like face, emerald eyes sparkling with innate mischief. His sister is sprawled inelegantly out over the couch, nineteen years young and painfully beautiful, the image of their mother’s elegant sharp features, decked out in over three thousand dollars in the latest seasons fashion with their mutt puppy in her lap, rubbing Winston’s belly like it’s going out of style as the pup wags his tail fiercely and licks her face devotedly.

His little sister, in a nutshell. Entirely uncaring of propriety, a bit flightly, who spends far too much money on clothes she doesn’t even care enough about to maintain. But also the sweetest girl he’s ever met, with the gentlest heart, fierce in her love and her defence of the people who are lucky enough to have that love. No one in his life has ever had his back the way Lilah has, his very own fierce little alpha warrior, and Will can’t find it in himself to deny her anything, from the tiny mutt puppy she’d brought home one night, shivering and mud soaked in her Burberry coat, to going to the opera with their parents as a punishment for whatever thing Lilah has done now.

Will sighs, putting the dish he’d been drying away, silently waving that nice, quiet evening in his and Lilah’s penthouse apartment with a cold beer and a good book goodbye. “And what did you do _this_ time?” Will drawls, arms crossed over his chest and eyebrow raised, but Will knows the look in his eyes is too fond for real reproach, as it always is with Lilah.

“Willy, I’m hurt. Why do you always suspect me?” Lilah protests dramatically, fluttering her eyelashes with exaggerated innocence and thrusting her hands over her heart melodramatically, until Winton’s puppy whines bring them back to his fur.

“Precedent,” Will says, deadpan, hiking his eyebrow up even higher as he remembers all of the previous occurrences where Lilah did something well-meaning but stupid without thinking, and then dragged Will into the consequences with her.

Will loves his sister, utterly and completely, but there is a pattern here, he has noticed.

“There is that,” Lilah admits without shame, as she drawls, voice pitched higher than normal for emphasis, “I _may_ or may not have almost gotten myself arrested again.”

“ _Lils…_ ” Will sighs, already imaging the voicemail they are both going to get from their grandparents, reminding them of the responsibility associated with being a _New Orleans Le Fontaine_. Neither Lilah or Will are strangers to said cheery phone call, though the balance has shifted in the last few years from Will being the recipient most to Lilah, something that Will has the sneaking suspicion is probably not accidental on Lilah’s part.

His little sister, always stepping in front of the sword for him and taking their grandparents vitriol.

Its things like that that make it impossible for Will to ever stay mad at his sister.    

“Michael’s ex is an asshole, an elitist alpha prick who thinks his cock means he has the right to do anything. He was hassling Michael and trying to intimidate him to come back, and he put his hands on him when Michael told him no,” Lilah says, the fire in her eyes incongruent with how gentle her hands are, still stroking Winston, who has curled up in her lap and is napping like the baby he is, “I took offense with that, so I…convinced him to remove them.”

His little sister. Impulsive, noble to a fault, and always letting her big heart get her into trouble.

“You’re ok? You’re not hurt are you?” Will says, giving his sister a more thorough once over then the customary one that he gave her when she came in, looking for any injures he might have missed. Will doesn’t see anything, no blood or bruised knuckles, but that doesn’t quite vanquish the worry that lingers in Will at the idea of his baby sister being hurt.

“Willy,” Lilah chides him, rolling her eyes at the very idea, before she says, with a certain amount of vicious triumph in her voice, “now I am almost insulted. I was just as good in those self-defence classes as you were, I’ll have you remember. That asshole walked off with a sprained wrist and a bruised ego, and tried to press charges like the little bitch he is.”

“Do forgive me for worrying about my little sister,” Will says, facetiously chiding, relief keeping him in a good enough mood that he’s smiling, just a little bit as he asks, genuinely curious, “And how did you avoid calling me to bail you out like last time, with the anti-drone protest?”

“Dumbass didn’t notice that a cop was there the whole time,” Lilah says, throwing him a _can you believe that asshole_ look, one Will is familiar with on Lilah’s face before she continues, “He saw it my way, like all the other witnesses did, and told Michael’s ex to nut up and fuck off. But that stupid tabloid reporter got a pic, put it in her lame stalker column, and mommy ended up hearing about it. And so, the ‘spontaneous’ trip to Baltimore with daddy, and the opera.”

“Please tell me you’re paraphrasing what the cop said,” Will says, manfully resisting the urge to put his face in his palm, magnanimously ignoring the fact that his sister actually made air quotes around the word spontaneous like a ten year old kid.

“Mine is more amusing, and factually accurate too,” Lilah says with a cheeky wink, before she shifts into what Will calls ‘bargaining mode,’ something he knows that, once she outgrows her purposely rebellious phase, will make her an excellent corporate executive, “Also, Michael will be coming tonight, and you like Michael, right?”  

“You’re bringing your boyfriend to the event you are being forced to attend as a result of defending said boyfriend’s honor?” Will asks, lifting that questioning eyebrow again, trying to piece out the logic behind that one. Will does like Michael; from what he’s seen of the kid he seems like a nice, calm, collected guy, exactly what his firecracker of a sister needs. A heartland boy, all windblown skin and neat blond hair, conventionally attractive for an omega and from a nice, middleclass family who, most importantly, _adores_ his sister. From what Lilah has told him, Michael, who’d been dating said asshole ex at the time, imprinted on Lilah in their first civics class together, and then had bashfully announced it to her, but had prefaced it with the fact that she was so far out of his league that he was absolutely not expecting anything from someone as perfect as her.

Lilah had pretty much steamrolled her way into his life after that, and hasn’t let go since. They’re disgustingly cute together, and Will has no doubt they’re going to last the long haul, though he’s grateful they’ve both decided to wait until they’re at least out of college before getting mated. Will knows that Lilah hadn’t told their parents about him yet, mostly because she was trying to spare him their grandparents’ apathy and disapproval, which Will admires, he really does, but he also acknowledges that letting their parents find out through that Lounds woman’s society trash column in Baltimore Sun probably wasn’t the way to go.

His mother is fabulous, she really is, but she can be creatively vindictive when she wants to be.

“Mommy insisted,” Lilah says with long suffering eye roll, confirming Will’s suspicions, as she continues, “I imagine she wants to grill him and make sure he’s good enough for me, while daddy stands by and pretends he’s not laughing at the whole affair.”

“That…sounds about right,” Will says, amused resignation in his tone, because they both know that’s _exactly_ what is going to happen, and then, although he knows the answer to this question, he asks it anyways, just because he wants to hear his sister say it, “And where do I come in?”

“Why moral support of course,” Lilah says, gearing up her drama, fluttering her lashes and looking at him with big, pitiful eyes, “My loving big brother wouldn’t let me face an ordeal like that alone, now would he? And besides, I already told mommy you’d be there, and she was _so_ happy. You wouldn’t want to disappoint mommy,” she finishes, all the cat that’s got the canary satisfaction her face, because they’re both aware that Will is never going to refuse both her and their parents.

“I hate you,” Will says, but the sheer _fondness_ in his voice steals away any of the bite the sentiment might have had, and the twinkle in Lilah’s eyes as she parries back, “You love me,” says she knows it too.

“Yes I do,” Will says, ruffling a hand teasingly through his sister’s luxurious hair, messing it up, before he heads towards his bedroom to get ready for the evening ahead of him, shooting back teasingly over his shoulder as he does, “God help me.”

Lilah’s whined, “ _Heeyyy_ ,” follows him all the way into the room with him.

******************************

An hour or so later, after Will has showered and shaved, and dried his hair, a little too long for his grandparents’ preference – and kept that way, Will admits, partially for that reason – finds Will in front of the mirror in his walk in closet, full of designer suits and menswear that Will couldn’t care less about. Will can wear Hugo Boss and Giorgio Armani with the best of them, but he’d much prefer some flannel and a nice soft beat up pair of denim jeans, just like his dad.

And as Will puts on his two thousand dollar personally tailored tux, ties his bowtie with practiced ease, he can’t help but imagine how easily the man who looks back at him in the mirror might never have existed. Will’s mother’s family were _beyond_ livid when their blue-blooded New Orleans royalty alpha daughter had mated and produced a child with a backwater bayou nobody omega, and tried every trick in the book to try and get his mother to leave his father, from serious emotional manipulation to financial threats.

Shannon told her parents to respectfully go fuck themselves, and that she was keeping her mate and her son, and that as their only alpha child, if her parents wanted her to run the company, they’d have to take Will and Bill as well.

Six months later Will’s grandparents had buckled, and Shannon taken over the New York company headquarters, relocating Will and Bill there with her, to be far away from her parents. A year and a half later Bill had given birth to Lilah, the couple’s first and only alpha child, and his grandparents had stopped being at least overtly hostile to Bill at the production of an appropriate heir, though they’d certainly never warmed to him all the way. They’d been apathetic at best towards Bill and their first grandchild, the strange little quiet omega boy with the eyes that saw far too much.

At worst, Will’s grandparents pretty much hated him until he graduated with an accounting degree, joined the company and started displaying an innate ability to make them money. Will’s not too fond of people – his parents and sister excluded - but he loves numbers, and combining that love with his empathy – as several therapists have titled it – his ability to get into people’s heads and see what they, and their business interests are going to do, Will’s managed to streamline the company’s Baltimore interests and maximize their profits by forty percent in only two years.

Will’s grandparents suddenly seemed to find Will a great deal more tolerable after that. Now they’re even talking about how excited they are that one day Will will make the ideal CFO to Lilah’s CEO of Le Fontaine Global.

Bill, Will and Lilah all had good laugh about that one, while Shannon had just shook her head and sighed fondly at her mate and her children.  

“I hate the opera,” Will says, sensing Lilah’s presence without even having to turn around, continuing to finish up with his tie, letting the soothing sound of the fabric of Lilah’s dress as she moves around behind him wash over him.

“No you don’t,” Lilah says, resplendent in a black Vera Wang, that reaches to almost her neck in the front but is backless to the dimples in her spine, showing off her defined back muscles, the strong spine of an alpha predator, as she sweeps over to his dresser and picks up his cuff links, mother of pearl, a gift from his mother, and fits them expertly into his shirt, “you love the music. You just hate all the stupid little boring people there, yours truly excluded of course.”

This, Will admits, is true.

“I’m going to get mistaken for your age, carded insistently and hit on by alphas that I could have babysat for, all of them dumber and more boring than the next, who only see my child bearing hips and whose parents are only interested in my last name,” Will complains, with a certain amount of exasperated frustration, born from the fact that this is what _always_ happens, “And that’s nothing to say of the alpha’s who could be mom’s age who are going to ask me if I ‘need some sugar.’”

Will shudders at that last one, instinctively, and Lilah mimes vomiting from over his shoulder, making Will smile.

“Oh my poor big brother, too pretty for his own good,” Lilah coos, and when Will meets her eyes in the mirror he can see they are twinkling merrily with mischief, as she teases him mercilessly, “What a terrible burden you must overcome.”

“You know, I wanted a puppy and I got you instead,” Will says, turning around so that he can tug on one of the loose curls that escape the elegant up do that Lilah has put together with what looks like pearl tipped pins, a lot of hairspray and possibly a few prayers.

“Well, now you’ve got both,” Lilah says, running her hands of his shoulders to fix the line of his suit, after she’s finished sticking her tongue out at him, before she sets off back to the drawer to find Will’s cologne, some ridiculously expensive thing that she had made for him for his last birthday.

“Yes,” Will reminds her gently when she returns, offering his wrists to her in turn, so she can spritz them with the cologne, that smells of vanilla and sandalwood, “But Winston hasn’t emotionally blackmailed me into going to the opera lately.”

“Hey, who knows,” Lilah says, waving away Will’s accusation with a dismissive hand wave, before she continues, tongue firmly set in cheek, “maybe you’ll meet your alpha prince charming tonight and fall head over heels in love, until I drag you away at midnight back to our ivory tower to preserve your virginity.”

“Little sister,” Will says, with a facade of grim seriousness, as he announces with grave solemnity, “I regret to inform you that ship has sailed.”

“Not including your beta girlfriends,” Lilah drawls back, entirely unimpressed, and yes, alright, even Will has to concede that she has a point there. Will has terrible luck with dating alphas – his empathy means that everytime he sits down to a date with an alpha, their disorganized and largely disgusting thoughts always distract him – which has led to him mostly dating female betas, who are perfectly content with just using him for practice before they go hunting for a beta or an alpha that can give them children. The only alpha that Will ever felt any compatibility with was a young man named Mathew, who he dated in college for a month and a half. Mathew had the most clear and logically organized mind that Will had ever encountered in an alpha, and had given him the first taste of what he might want in an alpha.

Of course, one can’t forget the fact that relationship ended when the cops arrested Mathew for being a serial arsonist, the last three of his fires which he had set in Will’s honor.

Will’s half afraid that if he does imprint on an alpha, he’ll be a serial killer or something. The other half is dedicated to the fear that if that happens, Will isn’t going mind as long as he gets a loving mate and a couple of healthy children out of the deal.

Will will cross that bridge if and when he gets to it.

“Shut up,” Will says, for lack of a better comeback, pulling himself away from that thought, before he tells his sister, with a tiny smirk, “Or I’m telling mom about the time I found your receipt to that sex toy shop downtown for self-heating edible lube and Ben Wa balls.”

“Grasshopper, you are learning the art of the manipulative shrew,” His sister says, wiping an imaginary tear of pride out of her eye, “I’m _so_ proud of you.”

“I owe it all to you sensei,” Will says, bowing mockingly, before he draws his arm around Lilah’s waist and looks at the picture they both make in the mirror, his own waif like omegean softness contrasting with Lilah’s powerful alpha sharpness, “You ready for this?”

“Gamefaces on,” Lilah says, through lips painted blood red, a fierce twinkle in her eyes, “Let’s do this.”

 _Alright_ , Will thinks, with a sigh of resignation, _might just well_.

_What’s the worst thing that can happen?_

******************************

The players:

Will La Fontaine, 24, omega, accountant (and cannibal tolerant)

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=2zh4f8y)

Hannibal Lecter, 31, alpha, surgeon (and cannibal)

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=sy9wuq)

Lilah La Fontaine, 19, alpha, university student - business major (I retconned Lilah. Yesterday I couldn't find the perfect actress.  Today I remembered Emma Stone is a person. You are welcome).

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=s5a0j8)

Just look at those curls. Hannibal is doomed, and you are welcome.

******************************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So yeah, this isn’t my fault. I was perfectly fine never revisiting Will’s parents (this is a lie, Wage Your War is going to have a way off epilogue where the twins are 13 and Will’s half siblings play a role), and then someone was all “You should do an AU where Shannon wasn’t a wimp and Will grew up with her and Bill as a La Fontaine,” and damn it, then the monkey on my back made me write this. This is that person’s, or the monkey’s fault, not mine. This is a two parter for me right now, that will probably end after the opera and Will imprinting on Hannibal, but it might evolve, especially after I actually finish Wage Your War (which is my priority) and if anyone comments with something for this universe that I just have to write (like say athletic, bendy young people sex). This A/B/O Hannigram is going to consume my life guys. Oh well, what a way to go. So, as always, enjoy, and reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Uh…implied cannibalism? Think that's a given in this fandom at this point.
> 
> Disclaimer: Nope. Don’t own it. 
> 
> A/N: Please read the super long author's note at the end, and enjoy :)

 [](http://tinypic.com?ref=2u6nx41)

******************************

 _Unfortunately, he still hadn’t asked for my number, or a date, or my hand in marriage, and my drink was getting low._ ― Kimberly Novosel, Loved

 _I know we’re not dating, but whenever I see someone else flirting with you, I want to shoot them in the face_ \- Unknown

******************************

Will has never particularly enjoyed attending events at the Baltimore Opera House, but as he stands in the foyer with Lilah, waiting for their parents to arrive, he can’t deny that the house itself is a beautiful thing. The high sweeping ceilings and classical atmosphere have always been a sight that Will admires, a calming sight almost, but the effect is clearly lost on Lilah, who practically vibrates with nervous energy at his side.

Will can’t say he blames her. Their parents are marvelous, they really are, but they can also be a lot to handle, in their good-natured protectiveness of their children, and, in their defence, Lilah _was_ hiding this from them. Will can understand why – when introducing a date to the family means eventually having to bring them around so they can experience their grandparents apathy and disapproval, Will doesn’t exactly put it on his list of most anticipated things to do with a date either – but he also sympathizes with his parents’ position.

Empathy disorder. Makes it hard to sustain prolonged eye contact and to take a side in family dramas. The therapists he saw as a kid might have helped him with the eye contact, to an extent, but Will still makes like Switzerland in times of family divide.

But honestly, Will thinks, with a philosophical shrug, that’s alright with him. He knows that without his parents and Lilah’s unadulterated support, without their unconditional love and their willingness to work with every therapist, not to fix their son, but just to make him a little happier, he could have ended up far worse than the mild to moderate introvert that he is now.

Will, for as long as he lives, will _never_ stop being grateful for his parents love and acceptance of him.

Doesn’t mean he envies Lilah and her situation for even one hot second. This promises to be an…interesting evening, one where Will intends to take advantage of the only perk of events like this one.

Free booze. Lots and _lots_ of free booze.

I’m going to go and wait for Michael,” Lilah says finally, sending a half anxious, half longing look towards the carpeted stairs, as if she’s picturing running down them and then just not stopping, “I think he could use some support so that he doesn’t end up frozen in fear on the steps all night.” And then, back to Will again, a faintly apologetic look in those bright eyes, “You alright to handle the ‘rents arrival until then?”

“Go rescue your damsel in distress,” Will tells his little sister, unable to keep his fondness out of his voice, “And I’ll field our parents for you.”

“A prince among men is what you are,” Lilah says, eyes soft, and she brushes a grateful kiss over his forehead, and then she wastes no time in making her way back down the entrance stairs, to no doubt wait nervously for her boyfriend around the corner from the entrance, so she can ease him into it.

His little sister of the gentle heart. Will can’t find it in himself to fault her, even when she is leaving him to the wolves.

That these wolves gave birth to him, Will thinks a few minutes a later, as his parents sweep into the foyer of the opera hall like a queen and her long suffering king, is irrelevant. They are undeniably still wolves.

But he loves them, and he’d have it no other way.

“My boy, look at you,” His mother says, reaching him first to embrace him, before she holds him by his shoulders, the picture of smooth elegance in a floor length gown of deep teal blue fabric, diamonds adorning her ears and neck, dark hair curled short and lips a powerful red, “Every time I leave you alone, you get more gorgeous. I’m going to have to go out and buy a shotgun just for the purpose of threatening all the suitors that will come begging, prostrate on the floor, for you.”

“You can borrow mine, _cher_ ,” His dad drawls, all smooth, Louisiana bayou charm, looking largely tolerant of his tux, forgoing the usual black for a white coat, cheeks clean shaven as they rarely are and curls hinted with grey tamed back, with a sharp mischievousness in his eyes that Will recognizes only too well from his sister, “I’ll use that time to sharpen my fishing knives.”

“Mom,” Will says, brushing a kiss to his mother’s cheek, making no move to dislodge her embrace, his words both truth and flattery, because somehow his mother still looks as young as she did a decade ago, “You look as lovely as ever. Dad,” he says, teasingly, finally stepping out of his mother’s grasp only so that he can meet his father’s hug, and soak in the simple affection, “don’t encourage her.”

“I’m her husband, boy. That’s my one job.” His father drawls, the arm he’s slung around Will’s shoulder a comfortable weight, and _love_ in the look he throws his wife is so strong, so tangible that Will thinks even the blind would be able to see it. Bill then turns his attention back to Will, a smooth gesture, from one loved one to another, before he says, predictable and yet still appreciated, “You look good son, you been eating right?”

“Yes dad, I’ve been eating right, I promise,” Will sighs, secretly pleased by his father’s henning, this tangible proof that he is loved, before he continues lightly, “I made your gumbo just last week. Lilah gave it her seal of approval, though she did make me promise to tell you yours is still the best.”

“Speaking of your sister, where is my little red menace?” His mother asks, smiling at Bill’s satisfied grin, too fondly for her nickname to have any bite, before turning her attention back to Will, “You didn’t come separately did you?”

“She’s waiting out front for her boyfriend,” Will answers, raising an eyebrow at his mother, “She seems to be under the impression that he shouldn’t meet you two without a buffer.”

“Honestly, that girl,” His mother huffs, threading her arm through Will’s offered one, directing her gaze towards his father, who is standing on the other side of Will with a look of general amusement on his face, “Letting her parents find out she’s in a serious relationship from that insipid little trash column. What gets into that girl’s head sometimes I’ll never know.”

“That one is all mine, _darlin'_ ,” His father says, with a lazy head tilt towards Will, before he drawls, southern sweet and undeniably cheeky, “Lilah couldn’t be more you if we’d cloned her.”

His mother refutes that with a lazy wave of her hand that has Bill chuckling, before she turns back to Will and asks, a conspirators question, “Now, this Michael. What’s he like? Is he good enough for our Lilah?”

“No one is good enough for Lilah,” Will says simply, which is true enough, and both his parents acknowledge this in their own way, firm in their belief that no one is truly good enough for either of their children, before he continues, more serious than before, “But Michael might just be the closest. She loves him, very much, like the real deal love and he adores her, so go easy on him alright?”

“Honestly, in regards to dating, why is it that both of my children treat me like I’m some ferocious storybook monster, just waiting to snap?” His mother asks, with an air of exasperation that Will cannot tell is feigned or not, but from Bill’s chuckle he imagines it is not entirely a sincere question.

“I would answer that question for you mother, but I don’t think we have the time. I imagine you want to see the show at some point,” Will says, teasingly, smiling to undercut an edge the words might have, and his mother lets out a huff of fond genuine exasperation before she turns to his father and says, long sufferingly, “Yes, this one is entirely _your_ child.”

“I told you _cher_ ,” His father replies, entirely unashamed, and his mother throws her free hand up in the air in mock defeat, but as she does she curls herself closer to Will and so Will knows that everything is well.

His sister picks that time to make her appearance with Michael, who looks handsome but uncomfortable in his tux – that Will is sure that Lilah bought for him no more than a day ago – and largely overwhelmed and dazed at everything in general.

Will feels for him, he really does.

“Mommy, Daddy, this is Michael Weston. My boyfriend,” Lilah announces, chin up in a show of some defiance, so the picture of their mother’s innate noble pride that Will has to bite his cheek to keep from chuckling at the similarity.

“Mr. Weston,” His mother drawls, every inch a queen from her position on Will’s arm, before she shoots her daughter a chiding look, “A pleasure to _finally_ make your acquaintance.”

“You as well ma’am,” Michael manages to stutter out, and Lilah threads her fingers through his in a subtle show of support, before he turns to Bill, who is standing at Will’s other side with an expression of bemusement, and says, sounding shaky and nervous, “Sir.”

“Sir,” His father drawls, contemplatively, before he turns to address his children, teasing light in his eyes, effortlessly diffusing the tension in his easy, understated way, “I like that. Why don’t you two rugrats ever call me that?”

“Because we’ve seen you cook pancakes in footie pajamas?” Lilah returns, irreverent and cheeky, and yet Will can see the gratitude in her eyes, the soft light of thanks for his father’s running of interference that has clearly worked, as although Michael still looks nervous as all hell, some of the tension has seeped from his shoulders.

“There is that, my darling sweet,” Bill drawls with a chuckle, before he sweeps his youngest child up into a hug, playing with the same curl Will had as he asks softly, “And how is my beautiful baby girl?”

“Other than the fact that I’m at the opera, I’m great,” Lilah teases back, shooting their mother a look of put upon exasperation, designed to communicate to Shannon that this is, naturally _all her fault_.

“You are here, my darling daughter, because you are being punished for keeping things, like this lovely young gentleman, from your mother,” Shannon returns, unimpressed, not giving an inch, and although Will can see that his mother’s disapproval is a result of Lilah’s secrecy and not Michael himself, he feels for Lilah, because their mother’s disapproval has never been something that has weighed comfortably on either of them.

“What am I being punished for then?” Bill interjects, once again as a tension breaker, eyebrows tilted just enough that he looks genuinely curious, and Will can’t help but let out a little chuckle at that one.

“Falling in love with me,” Shannon fires back, not missing a beat, throwing both her son and her husband a dirty look, though Will can see the humor hidden underneath it.

“Ah _cher_ , I’m guilty as charged. A repeat offender. Lock me up and throw away the key,” Bill croons in response, letting go of Lilah so he can offer his wrists up as to his wife as if for handcuffs, wagging his eyebrows salaciously.

“You rogue you,” Shannon says, the same way she might say _you ridiculous man_ , but the fondness that Will can see in his mother’s eyes softens her admonishment into something endearing, and, though Will is loath to admit it because this is his mother, flirty.

“Your rouge _darlin'_ ,” Bill returns with, adding in a wink that is just suggestive enough to make Will despair his parents as a whole, because really, he might be twenty-four, but no one wants to have to witness their parents flirting.

“ _Ugh_ ,” Lilah says, clearly agreeing with Will as she pretends to gag, complaining, “Wasn’t the opera enough punishment?”

“How about we go in now, before I come to my senses and succumb to my temptation to escape in a cab?” Will says, before his mother can formulate a comeback to Lilah’s complaint, because it wasn’t like he wasn’t thinking it as well, and his mother hasn’t had the opportunity to sharpen his wit on him lately.

The sacrifices he makes.

“A lovely idea William,” his mother says, with a devious look in her eyes, before she offers her other arm to Will’s father, and says, with a certain amount of knowing satisfaction, “Let’s all go inside and _mingle_.”

His mother. Beautiful, loving, and creatively vindictive.

“Save a seat for me in that cab,” His father mutters long sufferingly into Will’s ear as he passes, taking his place on his mother’s other arm, as she leads both of her boys – as she refers to them - into the reception hall, and Lilah and Michael fall into step behind them.

Will bites down his chuckle until he tastes blood, and braces himself for the ordeal ahead.

******************************

 _Ugh_ , Will thinks, staring at the masses of insipid, dull people that clog the reception hall.

This is why Will hates the opera.

And today, it’s worse than usually, because Will has been left to face the mob on his own. Usually he at least has Lilah to mitigate some of the _noise_ , but Lilah is too busy with Michael, and with being dragged around by their parents – mostly their mother admittedly – to network to hang with Will and act as his buffer.

Will can’t say he’d trade her.

And at first it’s bearable – Will makes some small talk with a beta work associate he likes well enough and her husband, before finding a nice little corner all to himself where he can observe the crowd largely unnoticed. And then Will’s luck runs out, as he catches sight of a familiar alpha - older than his mother, handsome enough, Will supposes, in a silver fox sort of way, though that is utterly mitigated by the man’s tasteless nature – who himself has zeroed in on Will, and is fast approaching Will’s little corner.

He flags the nearest waiter, and swipes a flute of champagne off the tray. There’s no way he’s having this conversation sober.  

The alpha in question is Sebastian Renard, originally from France and owner of an art gallery that is, in Will’s opinion, full of art that is more pretentious than it is tasteful, and the biggest lothario that Will has ever meet. Renard, Will knows, has a wife, a little blond omega a year or two older than Will, who is entirely fine with Renard’s tomcatting around, so long as she also gets to play. Renard, naturally, because he feels that he is God’s gift to omegas, has decided that Will is going to be one of those playmates, and that Will’s constant and fervent refusals are just him playing hard to get.

“ _Willy_ ,” the man drawls, the nickname that he is fond of from Lilah a grating sound from Renard’s overly large lips, as he drawls it in a manner that Will is sure he thinks is suave but is really just sleazy, “Fancy seeing you here all by yourself.”

And then he slides a hand over Will’s ass and _squeezes_.

Will, for all that he considers himself a patient and polite man, is tempted to punch the man in the throat every time he speaks.

However, because Will has been better socialized than that, he simply takes a fortifying sip of his champagne, moves discreetly away from that intruding hand, and, even knowing he’s going to regret it as he says it, asks, “Sebastian, always good to see you. What’s new in the art world?”

Sebastian, who’s deeply, _deeply_ in love with the sound of his own voice starts up on some diatribe about some artist that Will just _has_ to see, some revolutionary talent that only Sebastian has access too, and then, just as an added bonus, he adds another blatant innuendo in before he just _keeps going_.

Lilah owes him big time for this, mark his words.

And then, after about five minutes of that, just when Will is considering whether or not gnawing his own arm off like a trapped wolf to get away would be less painful than staying and listening to any more, his salvation comes in the form of a smoothly European accented voice from behind him, that interjects, finally stopping Renard’s seemingly never ending chatter and innuendo, “Sebastian, I thought that was you.”

“Hannibal,” Renard exclaims, turning away from Will, face brightening with some sort of excitement Will can’t quite place, though it reminds him, strangely, of less popular student looking for approval from a more popular one in high school, “It has been too long my good man.”

And so, because it would be rude not to, Will turns as well, and looks at his unknown rescuer.

And then he doesn’t do much else.

 _Tock_.

Motherfucker.

Will has heard about imprinting all his life, from his father, from his teachers, from his classmates and omega friends and from Michael, when he’d been introduced to him, though out of all of them, he’d preferred his father’s description the best.

“They’ll be this feeling inside of you, like the ticking of a clock, tick, tick, tick, just waiting for a tock. And then you’ll meet someone – someone wonderful and worthy of you – and that tock will be there,” Bill had answered when Will had asked about imprinting after presented as an omega at the tender age of thirteen.

And then Bill had paused, had looked to Will’s mother sitting beside him and had said, with the most _reverence_ that Will had ever heard from his father, “And you’ll look at them, and think, there you are. I’ve been looking for you forever.”

 _Oh_ , Will thinks as he stares at this Hannibal, this _thoroughbred_ alpha, all ash blond hair, sharp cheekbones and dark, fathomless eyes, _there you are. I’ve been looking for you forever._

Will’s known about imprinting all his life.

He wasn’t expecting to do so at the opera, in front of Sebastian ‘I like to squeeze your ass’ Renard, with his parents and little sister somewhere in the periphery.

Will is going to need _way_ more booze.

Like all the booze. Ever.

“Your lovely wife was looking for you, near the bar,” the man that Will’s body has decided it would like to bear children for says to Renard, as Will comes back to his senses. Neither alpha seems to have noticed Will’s lapse of mentality, thank the gods and Will manages a polite facsimile of a smile at Reynard’s conspiratorial, “The old ball and chain calls, and I must answer,” that naturally comes with a salacious wink in Will’s direction.

Will still wants to punch Renard in the throat. Given that the world has shifted beneath his feet, the familiarity is rather comforting.

“Hannibal, always good to see you,” Renard says, and Hannibal inclines his head gracefully in acknowledgement, face a smooth, polite mask, before he turns to Will and says, before he ambles off, with all the subtly of a sledgehammer, “Willy, you be sure you find the time to drop by my gallery and check out all my…exhibits.”

So much booze.

“Uh huh,” Will mutters into his champagne flute, to Sebastian’s retreating back, unable to help himself, “I’ll pencil that into my calendar. First of never.”

The sound that escapes the man that Will is rather studiously not looking at, not unlike a supressed chuckle, indicates that he might not have been as quiet as he’d hoped.

 _Oh well_ , Will thinks with an internal sigh, _time to face the music_.

“I do apologize for my interruption,” his most ideal biological mate says, this man with a conqueror’s name and a predator’s eyes, the first thing he’s said directly to Will, voice smooth and made warm by his Eastern European accent, “But it seemed as if you might welcome it, under the circumstances.”

The music has a really sexy voice.

But he’s digressing.

“No need to apologize,” Will says, turning to meet the man eye to eye for the first time, and decides he could probably drown in those dark fathomless orbs, before he falls back onto well trained courtesy, the consequence of a last name like his, “You read that situation entirely correctly. I was looking for a rescue, as it were, so I owe you my thanks.”

“Not at all, it was a…pleasure to be of service. Dr. Hannibal Lecter,” Hannibal answers, outstretching his hand for Will to shake, his voice a low purr, the momentary hesitation of his phrasing to smooth to be anything but deliberate. But unlike Renard’s fumbling attempts into Will’s pants, which served to only disgust him, Hannibal’s subtle entendre makes Will glad that the cologne that Lilah forced on him serves to hide the smell of the single drop of slick that is currently leisurely making its way down his right leg.

Will is _so_ doomed.

“William La Fontaine. Accountant,” Will says, and places his own hand in the man’s, desperately ignoring how nice and warm and _big_ that hand is as it curls around his, just skirting the line of propriety for a handshake, leaving his introduction at that, because Hannibal’s clearly spent some time in high society, and he can’t of not heard of Will’s last name. And then, because Hannibal is still holding Will’s hand, and those fingers are starting to become distracting, Will asks, working off a hunch that is starting to develop, “Surgeon?”

“A very good guess,” Hannibal says, making no move to give Will’s hand back to him, and Will catches a look that he isn’t sure Hannibal wanted him to see; like Will has pleasantly surprised him, just performed a trick that he wants to know the mechanics’ behind, “How did you know?”

Will has the sneaking suspicion this might be an alpha who might actually appreciate Will’s little…quirk.

He’s not sure if that’s a good sign or a bad one.

“You have surgeon’s hands,” Will says, because _your fingers look really long and I’d like to try them out_ , and also _I have an empathy disorder and you have a god complex that I’ve only ever seen in surgeons, but somehow it only makes you more attractive_ both happen to be true, but are certainly not things he’s prepared to share with the man just yet.

“Ah,” Hannibal says, as he finally releases his hand, and Will ignores how it tingles, and Will catches another look he _knows_ Hannibal didn’t intend for him to see, something evaluating and pensive and _dark_ in those mesmerising eyes, “It is often the most obvious of answers that goes unsuspected I suppose.”

Something _familiar_.

 _Well now_ , that part of Will that sees _far_ too much croons, dark and sweet, _what do we have here?_

Will doesn’t have much experience with criminals – beyond, he supposes Mathew, but even Mathew never showed that side of himself to Will – but what Will does have is plenty of experiences with psychopaths.

And no, that isn’t an oxymoron.

Will, for all that he is a glorified number cruncher, is also a La Fontaine, and his name is on the company logo. As such, Will has the…privilege of sitting in on all the big meetings, with all the bigwig cutthroat CEO’s and executive’s that the company does business with, pitting his wits against their own in a game that he enjoys more than he ever thought he would.

And as such, Will has seen a lot of psychopaths.

People who use arrogance and superficial charm to scale the top of the ladder, knocking off whoever gets in their way. Social predators who don’t get bothered by ordinary social anxieties; self-serving individuals, whose only concern is _food_. Men and women – usually alpha’s, in Will’s experience - who see the world as one large watering hole built just to satisfy their powerful thirst for sex, money and power. Snakes in suits, who don’t look any different from anyone else until you look in their eyes, and see the monsters curled there, just waiting. Most of Will’s coworkers can’t tell them apart from the masses the way Will can with his way of looking at world, but in the instinctual part of themselves they know it, and try to avoid interactions with them, guarding themselves subconsciously.

Will loves working with them.

They’re so refreshingly…clear. Free of that tedious _noise_ that dogs his interactions with other people; organized minds – a simple line between id and ego and super ego – I want and so I take, I like and so I care. People with passions that run hot and consuming, but with control as strong as iron, and wits sharp enough to duel with his own and not become dull.

Will acknowledges that viewpoint probably means there’s something just a little broken in him.

Will can see those same monsters are slumbering in Hannibal’s eyes, waiting and _hungry_.

Will’s just fine with being a little broken.

“I suppose so,” Will says, slowly, looking at Hannibal through lowered lashes, and the _interest_ in those dark eyes as Hannibal looks back is immensely gratifying.

This evening is shaping up to be a great deal more _fun_ than he thought it would be.

“Forgive me if I have presumed too much, but you seem like a very capable man,” Hannibal says, practiced charm a comfortable mask on him, before he asks, tone of polite curiosity, “If you were not enjoying Sebastian’s company, why did you not just leave?”

“I couldn’t think of any way to extract myself without being rude,” Will says, because this is true enough. Will might not be able to stand Sebastian and his wandering hands, but Sebastian is a known entity in their little world, and quiet tolerance is the lesser evil compared to the noise that making a scene would create.

Just the cost of doing business.

“You put politeness above your own interests?” Hannibal asks, something that Will cannot identify in his voice, and Will shrugs, taking a sip of his champagne before he says, one of his grandparents only idioms that Will ever saw any value in, “Courtesy costs nothing. Rudeness can be expensive.”

The dilation of Hannibal’s dark pupil’s would probably be undetected to anyone other than Will, but _oh_ , is it interesting indeed.

Aroused by politeness, Will notes abstractly.

 _Meh_. He’s seen weirder.

“Are you not fond of eye contact?” Hannibal asks, to break the silence, and then when Will raises an eyebrow at him, a subtle question, because Will hasn’t found it in himself to take his eyes off of Hannibal the whole time. Hannibal, with the tiniest of nod of acknowledgement, lips curled up just the tiniest bit in a smirk of what Will thinks is satisfaction, elaborates with a smooth smugness, “You rarely met Mr. Renard’s.”

Will has to bite down his own smirk at the man’s less then subtle alpha superiority. The man’s a pouncy git, but somehow it only serves to make him more attractive.

Oh yeah, Will is definitely a little bit broken.  

“Eyes are distracting,” Will says instead, not quite giving Hannibal the acknowledgement he is clearly searching for, but letting himself hint at something he thinks will interest him even more, “You see too much, you see too little.” And then, with a disgusted roll of his eyes, “The former, in Mr. Renard’s case.”

“Understandable,” Hannibal says, something _dark_ in those eyes at the mention of Renard’s intentions towards Will, before that darkness flows into something a bit more _heated_ , as he drawls, “And yet, a pity, to hide something so beautiful from the world.”

Oh yes, this is definitely _fun_.

“Dr. Lecter,” Will says slowly, drawing out his words, and savoring their taste in his mouth, “I don’t believe that was overly subtle.”

“Mr. La Fontaine, I do not believe that was my intention,” Hannibal purrs back, and his accent makes the words sound like _sex_ , base and just the right amount of _dirty_.

 _Well_. Alrightly then.

It’s possible there might be more than one drop of slick making his way down his leg now.

“Perhaps I don’t find you that interesting,” Will teases, just to see what Hannibal will do, and the man doesn’t disappoint, parrying back with a _lovely_ gleam in his dark eyes, “Well then, I will have to work to change that.”

 _Yes please_ , Will’s libido interjects.

Will tells that part of him to shut up. At least until he gets home, where his favorite vibrator is waiting for him.

Huh. That most assuredly _didn’t help_.

And then, before Will can come back with a retort, he feels a familiar hand thread through the his hair, to cradle the back of skull, an alpha gesture of affection for family members or mates, and one that Lilah and her fascination with his curls has always preferred. If an unknown or unwanted alpha tries it to an omega, the omega will tense up automatically, a distress signal for others to see and respond to.

Will unthinkingly arches into the gesture, the movement instinctive and natural, sexual tension draining out of him at the comforting presence of his sister.

Hannibal, beside him, is suddenly as tense as a board.

Will wonders if enjoying that leashed danger in Hannibal’s eyes at the sight of Will responding positively to another alpha’s hands on him makes him a bad person.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” his sister says in greeting, solicitously polite, carefully structured smile on her face, though Will can see the true undercurrent to her words. Lilah does hope she’s interrupting – she’s here to rescue him, as she has so many times before from the unwanted advances of some alpha, and Will doesn’t know how to tell her – hardly can believe it himself – that this one time, they’re _not_ unwanted.

“Dr. Hannibal Lecter, Lilah La Fontaine. My sister,” Will says, adding on those two last words when he otherwise wouldn’t, enough to clue Hannibal in but leave Lilah in the dark, because if he’s going to have to have a talk about the birds and the bees with his sister, he is _not_ doing it in front of the alpha he’s imprinted on.

Just…no.

“A pleasure,” Hannibal says to Lilah, extending a hand for her to shake, honest as he relaxes, a change that Will is sure that only he catches, and is only all the more satisfying for it.

“And you as well,” Lilah says, exchanging a perfunctory handshake with Hannibal, and Will makes her tone as more polite than honest, a sentiment born of courtesy rather than true feeling, but Will is grateful for that. It means that Lilah hasn’t noticed that Will isn’t exactly looking for a rescue, and that saves him from a lot of questions he really doesn’t want to answer. And then Lilah continues, ostensibly to Hannibal but really to Will, as she informs them both, “I hate to drag Willy here away, but our parents are looking for him – they want to go in and take our seats now.”

“Of course,” Hannibal says, all smooth charm, the image of appropriate politeness and contrition as he says, to both of them, but really to Will, “I will not keep you any longer,” And Will can see that’s a lie, because Hannibal wants to keep him for a _very_ long time indeed.

Will thinks he might be ok with that.

Hannibal offers Lilah a polite departure nod, which she returns, and then he turns to Will and says, voice entirely polite, but eyes positively _gleaming_ with that temptingly warm darkness, “Until next time, Mr. La Fontaine.”

“We will see, Dr. Lecter,” Will responds, because he can’t help himself, and the _look_ that Hannibal shoots him as he walks away puts a satisfied little smirk on his face right up until he turns back to look at his sister.

Who is staring at him like she’s never seen him before in her life.

“That was flirting,” Lilah says, in the way that another person might say, _those were aliens that just landed on our roof_ , eyebrow raised to almost dangerous levels as she pins Will with those eyes of her, “I know flirting, and that was it.”

“ _Lils_ …,” Will starts, in his patented _I’m not discussing this with you tone_ , that to be fair, has never worked on Lilah, not even when she was a baby and nonverbal.

Demonstrating quite clearly that this is still the case Lilah, an evil, _evil_ smirk on her face turns to him and says, voice contemplative, tone not boding well for the chances of dropping this conversation, “He’s good looking, in sort of a serial killer way.”

“ _What?_ ” Will splutters, turning to his sister with wide eyes because yes, Will’s empathy might say psychopath, but that doesn’t mean _murderer_ – Will once read that surgeons were more likely to be psychopaths than any other type of doctor, because the idea of holding another person’s life literally in your hands appeals to them - and either way, there’s no way _Lilah_ would know that.

Lilah chuckles at him, indicating her teasing, but Will doesn’t relax, because she’s still got that dangerous twinkle in her eyes that always means trouble, which sure enough follows as soon as she opens her mouth and says, mock serious, “You know, all sharp cheekbones and dark eyes that house his angsty mainpain and tragic past. An alpha who will rock your socks off in the sack, but also might know how to dispose of a body. Like Ralph Fiennes,” she finishes cheekily, and then makes some sort of face that Will assumes is her attempt at a Ralph Fiennes face, but really just makes her look like she has to go pee.

“How is it we’re related again?” Will asks, mock exasperation, sighing internally at his ridiculous, adorable sister that he loves more than any other person on the planet.

“Just incredible luck on your part,” Lilah says, with a mock magnanimous air, before she curls up to him and asks, question serious but lilt of her tone teasing, “So, details. Did you _like_ him?”

“Well,” Will says, downing what’s left of his champagne in a single gulp before he bites the bullet and says levelly, with far more calm then he feels, “I imprinted on him, so here’s hoping.”

Will thinks it’s possible that, for the first time in nineteen years, he might have finally stunned his sister into silence.

“I’m going to rip his Ralph Fiennes serial killer face off if he touches you,” Lilah hisses, regaining her voice admirably fast, all fierce overprotective alpha, her nails like claws on his arm, emerald eyes flashing with fire.

“I’m going to need something stronger than this,” Will tells the nearest waiter with a certain fatalist air, and the waiter must read something in Will’s face, because he doesn’t even ask Will for ID. He just goes and gets Will a glass with two fingers of scotch in it, which Will downs in a single swallow, and it is only the sight of their approaching parents that stops him from asking for another.

“Not _one_ word,” Will warns his sister as he pastes his _yes of course you’re right grandmother_ smile on his face, because they are not having this conversation here, with their parents in front of all of Baltimore society.

Will thinks his mother might actually go out and buy that shotgun.

“No,” Lilah says out of a mouth already forming her corporate socialite smile for their parents, before she hisses out of the corner of her lips, “But we are _so_ not done with this conversation.”

 _Oh joy_.

Will can still feel Hannibal’s dark gaze on his skin, like a reminder of the man for Will to carry around in his very _flesh_.

Will hates the opera.

******************************

When Will wakes up the next morning, it is to silence in the apartment. He expected that; Lilah’s first class is at 7:30 am, some macroeconomics course that she hates, and Will, who doesn’t have to be into work until at least 9:00 am, always has the morning to himself on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Her early start this morning combined with their late end last evening also means that he doesn’t have to have the imprinting conversation he’s already dreading just yet, and that’s enough to keep him sleepily happy, though not enough to wake him from his morning stupor. That said, no matter her mood, Lilah always leaves him something before she goes in, an alpha protective quirk that Will has always enjoyed, and so, still rubbing sleep out of his eyes, Will makes his way into the kitchen to eat before his shower.

And then he stands in his kitchen, and blinks a great deal.

Sitting beside a buttered cinnamon bagel and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice is a huge, _huge_ vase filled with some lovely dark blue flowers, with a white note envelope settled in the blooms, his name written across it in elegant calligraphy. The bagel has a note on it as well, hastily scrawled out in Lilah’s penmanship on lined paper, and Will, in his still sleepy stupor, picks up that one first, reading it over as he takes a bite of the bagel.      

 _Larkspur_ , Lilah’s note says. _I looked it up. He says he wanted something as beautiful as your eyes._

_I still hate his face, but at least he has the decency to have good taste._

_P.S: I’m going to hold this over your head forever and don’t think I won’t ;) xoxo_

The flowers are from Hannibal.

Will is suddenly wide awake.

 _I searched long and hard, and yet I could find nothing that compared to the blue of your eyes,_ the text says, in excruciatingly beautiful calligraphy, once Will has removed the card from the envelope, the note paper heavy and thick beneath his fingers _. Though it will not deter my quest, these will have to suffice in the meantime. A wildflower for a rare and free spirit._

 _If I am not being too bold_ , _then might you permit me to request the pleasure of your company to dine with me?_

_Yours, Hannibal Lecter._

A phone number is written after Hannibal’s name, it’s presence a clear and subtle hint, a way of putting the ball in Will’s court. And so, Will sits in his kitchen, rapidly cooling bagel forgotten, and thinks long and hard about the choice ahead of him. Thinks of being only 24 and happy with his life, about having to fit a new person into his hard fought routine, having to introduce them to his crazy parents and worse still, his disapproving grandparents. Thinks about the fact that this man is a stranger he met only last night, a stranger with a smooth voice, sinful mouth and dark eyes where monsters slumber, and how that last one alone would have any rational person at least thinking twice, independent of any of his other concerns.

 _Yours, Hannibal Lecter_ , Will reads again.

Will likes the sound of that.

Will picks up the phone and dials.

******************************

The players:

Shannon La Fontaine, 45, alpha, CEO La Fontaine Global

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=dc4yn9)

Bill La Fontaine, 45, omega, stay at home parent

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=4g27na)

Michael Weston, 19, omega, university student – art major

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=mbnz93)

Shannon and Bill before the opera. I’m not sorry.

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=s1j037)

******************************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sigh. Seriously, this thing was just going to be a little twoshot, prompted off a comment at a whim. I didn’t even have a plot for this thing, because this Will isn’t desensitized by violence and also he’s 24, so he’s not baby crazy, and I couldn’t figure out how he’d ever be ok with the whole soylent green thing. So I was just going to end it here, at the opera, and magically hand wave it all away under the ‘they lived happily ever after and don’t ask questions’ veil. And then everyone responded so well to this, and so I tried to think it through, see if it could work, and then? And then I did. Suddenly the sister I gave Will on a whim and her boyfriend had a story arc with the throw-away line about the asshole ex, and that spiraled into an actual plot for this AU that now, at some point, I’m going to have to write. The bendy sex will play a role (possibly in the Bentley because someone asked and yes, that needs to be a thing) and so will Will’s grandparents (possibly at a family thanksgiving with Hannibal where the turkey will be turkey and Hannibal will be a protective BAMF). So, I hope you’re all happy now, because yeah, I really needed another fic that’s just going to mutate and grow on me like Wage Your War has (mostly kidding…mostly).
> 
> But, all seriousness, I’m so touched you guys still enjoy my foolishness with this fic and Wage Your War. Honestly, you make these things a real joy to write. That said I’ll be going back to Wage Your War and finishing that up before I tackle the rest of this (and that could take a while – I’ve mapped the rest of the story out but it’s been slow going with some of the research I’m doing to make sure I’m getting the pregnancy as close to legit as I can) but after I’m finished with that monster I’ll come back to this one, I promise. So, as always, enjoy, and reviews and constructive criticism are welcome. 
> 
> P.S: And then someone was all ‘I like it when the boys have happy backstories’ and I was all but Hannibal still ate his sister…but not if I wrote another AU (in the same Omegaverse but unrelated to these 2 fics) where he’s an omega and Mischa is alive and he’s on the verge of menopause and thinks he’ll never meet anyone he’ll imprint on and then alpha Will Graham walks into Jack’s office and tock. And scene. Someone please stop me. I need help.
> 
> Note as of Jan 2016: So, I’ve marked Seek Your Enemy as complete. That doesn’t mean I won’t ever write more, it just means I have no immediate plans to do so, and felt it was better left as a finished intro rather than an unfinished work. I do apologize for that, but it’s just not happening for me right now, and if it ever is, I’ll definitely revisit it.


End file.
